This is a true memory spanning a half century or so. Not quite your usual submission, it has already been put up on Experience Project. I do not know if this presents a problem for you or them. I have not been as explicit as you might like because it is painful to write about and much of the details have been forgotten. In my communications with the local child services bureaucrats trying to get therapy for my autistic daughter I had the bright idea of including in the email list of recipients my sister who was a journalist in
My name is Julie Baker and I was born in Edinburgh in March 1956 and subsequently brought up in the same city. My father is Scottish and was a well known GP in Edinburgh before he retired. My mother is Swedish and came to the UK in the 1950s to train to be a nurse. I was an only child and I benefited from a solidly middle class upbringing and the stability provided by two loving parents. From the age of 12 my parents sent me to a private day school for girls in Edinburgh. I was not academic but
A spur of the moment act meant retribution at home. (Originally written c. 1998 for the Yahoo group “I Was Spanked Growing Up”) by Megan Lowry North Carolina’s mid-summer heat and humidity were more oppressive than usual that Friday as I drove to the Dixie Mart to fetch a few groceries my mom needed for supper. Stopping at the pumps, I ran seven bucks worth of gas into my Monte Carlo and then ran inside where the air conditioning and chilly tile floor proved a welcome relief from the muggy air and sunbaked asphalt outside. After going to the dairy
The cane had been banned by the time I got to High School but a certain PE Mistress, Miss H, who was very “jolly hockeysticks” was always telling us how she would soon have us all more obedient and respectful. She was very hearty and loud and when we got older the girls used to joke about her possible sexuality. I remember being caught by her, along with another two girls, in the gymnasium stock room at lunchtime. We had found a hidey hole away from the rest of the school, or so we thought, until she appeared before us.
When I was a child I was a very keen rider. I lived with my parents in Surrey at a village called Fernhurst. We lived in a house called Cylinders and it has a few acres of ground and two stables. I was spoilt in some ways in that I was always bought good ponies and I won a lot of prizes at local shows. On the other hand my parents were very strict and if I was even slightly naughty I got a severe spanking. Initially this was only with their hands over my skirt or jeans but then
This is a true account of a belting my wife, Margaret, received at school in 1975 which I was able to witness as we were in the same class, 4A. We’d been going out together for about a year by that time. She was wearing a tight little grey school skirt, black sheer tights, block heel shoes, white blouse, school tie and a tight ‘V’ neck grey school jumper. Underneath she was wearing cute pink panties. I knew because at morning break we had been kissing and having a rather heavy petting session in a corner of the school grounds
I grew up an only child on a large orchard. My parents were always strict but fair. Since they were always both working from home, it never felt like I could get away with anything. Discipline was usually my father’s department. He was a stalky German immigrant with intense blue eyes so piercing it felt like he could read your soul when he stared you down. Although he could come across as stern and gruff he was actually a very loving and soft-hearted man. When I was younger, if the line was crossed his justice was swift. He’d haul me
I sat on my bed, my heart hammering in my chest because I knew I had overstepped the mark. I had given my mum cheek in front of her best friend. I called her ‘auntie Pamela’ because my mum and she were like sisters and I really liked her because she was very good to me. My mum had only asked me to make coffee and I had told her I wasn’t her slave. I knew better than to answer my mum back. She looked at me. “Are you never going to learn, Garry,” she said. “Sorry mum, I was
My father died when I was four years old and my mother met an Australian who wanted her to emigrate without me, so my story is of what my life was growing up in the sixties on a rough Council estate, bought up by two women who were less than loving towards me. My father had a sister, my Auntie Elsie, who lived with another woman called Joyce. They were Lesbians although at the time I did not know this or what Lesbians were. I went to live with them from the age of six and I never saw my
Told by Fenton Creek In parts of India it is not uncommon for offenders to be given an ‘off the record’ caning for minor offences. Records of the crime are then conveniently lost but a blind eye is turned as this reduces police paperwork and court time. This article, from the Old Delhi Times, is an interview with a young woman caught stealing from a market stall in an undisclosed Indian city. Old Delhi Times: So, tell us how it all started? Nita (name changed): I was in the market with my friend Vara (name also changed) and saw some